#red wig records

[emthejedichic]

Really kinda want to write a fic where Rufus SWEARS he’ll never go to the Honeybee Inn because his dad is always there… well, you know. And then Andrea Rhodea starts performing and Pres Shinra goes on this huge tangent about how the Honeybee is “too woke now” and says he’ll never go back… And Rufus is intrigued, so he goes and manages to finagle a meeting with Andrea, who takes a “special interest” in Rufus and helps him cross dress

[rowretro]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌

(picture found on tumblr)

✧Warnings: Violence, detailed ghost and gore, blood, a horror themed yandere story, dead bodies, possibly creepy dolls?, mafia demon Won (coz he has a gun in the pic, and I need him to be a demon in this story)

✧Synopsis: Y/n never found herself having to hide in her sweet penthouse, her $500 bottle of red wine spilled out of her crystal wine glass, the stunning door many envied, bloodied and broken. She found herself running, running into danger yet again... and the police were on a search for her, as she's now a missing person case. But Jungwon was on a hunt for her, making sure his darling is safe at all costs.

✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧

Y/n's blood ran cold. one last audio recording of her discoveries on day 7 of surviving. Surviving what you ask? she doesn't even know what to call it. It's eyes blank white, blood surrounding it's pearly eyeballs, running down it's cracked porcelain skin, dried out, it's long hair, everywhere it trails. She learnt not to touch it or it'll immediately sense she's there. It couldn't see her, but it could hear her. it could hear how her blood pumped through her body, her somewhat heavy breathing but it never knew where she hid. She was in an abandoned school.... a University known for it's paranormal sightings. She'd ran into many bodies, of those who tried to escape, some were streamers, reporters who willingly walked into the death department, others seemed like students who tried to escape.

Yet somehow she managed to find out how to kill it... the monster. Finding random letters a woman named Angela Xiao wrote till her death. Y/n examined how the monster's nails went from plain dead, to growing, blinding white nails. The day time was when it was most safe, it never came out in the late, but y/n remained wary. But now it's winter. The nights longer than days, darkness lasting long. She couldn't remember the last time she slept soundly with her only worry being waking up late when she has a morning lecture.

She figured the monster wrote those letters, it was once a woman, forced into an abusive marriage with a man that hurt her always, until he had it, ripping out her ligaments whilst she was still alive, as the woman screamed bloody murder, according to the random news letters in the cold dead hands in some reporters. There was some talks of a kid's ghost that lurked the hallways too. Her heart ached for this woman, but she had to get rid of this.... cursed being. perhaps perform an exorcism?...

She found a lighter, checking if it'd still blaze up, unaware of her surroundings, when a sudden, gut wrenching, ear-piercing scream shook her. There it was, the monster. Not expecting anything to happen but at least slow the thing down, she set it on fire, running off and hiding. but it kept screaming in agony, its body burning up, as it disappeared to ashes.... Y/n's eyes grew wide as she saw a much prettier woman in the form of a ghost, staring around at the bloodied mess, looking quite hurt... It saw y/n, and left behind a key....

It was the key to get out of this place physically. Hopeful yet extremely cautious, she picked up the key. The sound of clinking, echoed the empty hallways, not too far. That can't be right... she hid in the closet, watching as the shadow grew bigger. Her heart dropped at the sight. another one? she wondered as she saw the porcelain mannequin, walking robotically, its hair looking like an elegant wig a woman's love to wear, a red bow tied around it. the strappy red dress looked like a dress she had worn to a friend's frat party.

Those red glass heels looked as fragile as it's ceramic, glossy skin. "I know you're in here human... I can smell your yummy blood... oh don't be shy come out! it'll only hurt a little... I just wanna tear you open and eat your insides whilst u scream in pain!" it said with an eerily sweet voice. She calmed her breath, hiding well, she saw its face. pupils black, lashes drawn on, like a man had made himself a pretty wife in the 1950's, except it looked creepy, sure it possessed the beauty standards one'd expect in a woman, that were so unrealistic. but it's mouth area was broken off, and it's bloodied teeth, with some skin evident in between.

"Come out dear girl... I can see your dark hair.... what such pretty skin you have there......" she commented as Y/n swallowed hard. "THERE YOU ARE!" it screamed as y/n felt herself giving up, reaching for the blade to end her sorrows so she wont face the pain. as it's cold hands grabbed her shoulders, and opened its jaw revealing many rows of bloodied, long sharp teeth, y/n couldn't help but scream. Yet it dropped dead. glass shattering, soul arising from the shatterred, creepy mess off porcelain and disappearing. Y/n breathed heavily, as she finally cried.

"Fuck it's ok, its ok.... I'm here y/n...." a familliar voice said, Jungwon, the sweet boy in her class, the man she had a crush on.... but... he looked different. Gun in hand, black, featherred wings that had sprouted out his back. She backed away, repeating the word no, scared he's just an illusion. "shh shh.... I promise it is me.... I've been looking for you everywhere.... I didn't know that the curses still lived on earth- but trust me, you're safe with me.... look me in the eyes sweetheart." he said as y/n did so. and she immediately felt his sincerity.

As the police bought her story, and discovered the many dead bodies, they pinned their target, the man who started the curse of course, The man who had killed his wife and child. To the police however, he was a psychotic serial killer who killed every one there brutally and had gotten away with it for dozens of years. Y/n was in Jungwon's home, getting a little used to his demon abilities, and his dear friend Jay who casually sipped out of a blood bag before her. Jungwon could feel she was scared.... god it hurt him that she was so shaken up, in such a condition for about a week.

But he loved it, he loves how she grew so dependant on him... How she dragged him with her everywhere, how he helped her shower, delicately scrubbing the soap on her soft skin, wary of the wounds and cuts. He's loving how she's currently snuggling into his embrace, dressed in one of her short yet comfortable nightgowns, needy for his reassurance. See if something like this never happened, he couldn't have gotten her attention..... The haunting was all that was needed to get her to love him... And he will make sure she'll forever love him. She has no choice, only he can protect her, and only he can love her....

✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✧✭☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧☆✭✧

A/n: I'm gonna have nightmares for picturing this- but I hope u enjoyed, comment how u feel, and if u want me to make it up to you w a fluff- or maybe smut idk yet(shoot me w some requests, ill try)

[kamii-2]

hii so as yk i wanted to make an requesttt. i wanna know if you can do ice brady hc (maybe a lil spicy iykyk)

i chose ice brady because i honestly because she’s literally so underrated i see no fics abt her and i feel like i need some(desperately)

its ok if u cant do it know js take ur time mll💋💋

love u smm have a amazing day ❤️❤️

hi lovelyyy, i love this request and i agree, ice is super underrated (she’s so fine omfg)

warning(s): cussing, smut

genre: fluff & smut

pairing(s): ice brady x reader

==================================

always making dirty jokes

like that one live where kk, paige, snd ice were talking about height and kk says that her and nika were face to face and ice goes “mouth to mouth.” 😭😭

big and little spoon, depends on the day

you guys barely ever get into arguments so when you do it’s bad

shes the type to say stuff that purposely makes you mad

a bully 😭

definitely scream sings dirty songs ALL THE TIME

like she will be in the kitchen and youll be in the bedroom and all you hear is her screaming the lyrics to all i need by lloyd

calls you names all the time

“okay little ugly.” “you tell me the opposite every day.”

records you eating and posts it with the big back audio

now every time you eat you hide from her 💀

lowkey (highkey) slow as hell

loves to facetime you when you can’t come over and play roblox

falls asleep on the phone every time you guys call

LOVES taking showers with you (in cute ways and in dirty ways)

dramatic as fuck

my blurb about ice being sick is a great example of her being dramatic 😭😭

tells you that she loves you before bed every night

loves kisses and hugs

“one more kiss?” “i just gave you like 4.” “well it’s an uneven number so-“

kk and paige are always with you guys

they’ll all come to your dorm, go to your room, then go live 😭

ice is the type of person to say “do you wanna fight” every chance she gets

“no.” “do you wanna fight?” “let’s go then.” and you stand up and she starts screaming before your even do anything

takes absolutely nothing seriously

sends you tiktoks all day long

you guys make tiktoks together all the time

lazy and only does stuff if you give her things in return

“can you do the dishes?” “not unless i get something in return.” “like what?” “head.” “ice.”

posts you on her instagram story all the time

smut hcs

i don’t see her degrading you in bed, like making fun of you as a joke yea but never calling you a slut

she loves giving praises

telling you how good you’re doing and stuff like that

absolute clown

if you wear glasses and they fall off while you guys are fucking she will play around and put them on

same thing goes for lashes 😭 like if they fall off she jsut puts them on your body some where

and if you wear wigs and it comes off, guess what … she wears it

ice is definitely a switch

shower sex is 😩

she doesn’t really care for toys

you guys have a strap and vibrator but use them every once and a while

loves edging you and getting edged

def has a sex playlist

dirtiest of dirty talkers

like nobody has talked to you the way she does

takes pictures of you guys fucking and has an album in her phone full of them

fucking everywhere but the bedroom

car, bathroom, restaurant, anywhere

ice is always horny 😭 especially at night

sends dirty messages all day long

she also sends those red thoughts tiktok videos (pls tell me yk what im talking about)

she loves when you eat her out

her moans are actually angelic

thinks scissoring is too much work so she never does it 😭😭

when she uses the strap she doesn’t hold back

tells you have much she loves you as she fucks you

loves to make you squirt

==================================

i hope you enjoyed, anyway i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[sanjisblackasswife]

(FLUFF/NSFW) Let’s Talk About: Gojo Having a Black Girlfriend/Wife

Fluff

This mf loves black women

Look at him

Ultimate light skin

We all know Gege said he wouldn’t be good in a relationship.

However it’s not because he’s a cheater

Why do people aim him to be a red flag do y’all even know anything about this man’s true character

But to circumstance .

But let’s say he can have a partner.

You are the first and only candidate for this man and if you turn him down he may hit on Geto

I HC Gojo as straight but I still enjoy making jokes about him and Geto being a couple

A lot of women threw themselves at Gojo but you didn’t .

Not to say you were not like other girls oh no

You wanted to sit on his cock too, but you had a standard of yourself

Tbh Gojo as a boyfriend would be like having a little brother.

He annoys

Your entire well being.

Takes your wigs (if you wear em) and plays Megan thee Stallion in the bathroom

Bro is the type to use that audio “I was out nigga’d and I will never be out nigga’d again” when he records himself braiding your hair

He braids amazingly btw

Speaking of TikTok yes he is TT Famous and y’all have an account together

Bro does damn near every couple trend just to show you off.

I’d also like to add Gojo didn’t start off showing you off you actually hid y’all relationship from anybody for about a year

He told you off rip he didn’t want many people to know about you just yet becasue he knew you’d probably be a target. If you didn’t agree to that then it’s curtains for your relationship

But since you were so understanding Gojo actually cherished that.

Hiding the relationship wasn’t that hard. He was a busy man and you were a busy woman so if anybody saw y’all together it was pretty rare.

Lowkey killed him though after a few months because he really wanted to do some PDA.

LOVES PDA

Love love LOVE

Lingering touches, butt slaps, kisses, whatever he loves it.

If you’re not into it he’ll try some self restraint but don’t get mad if he loses his mind when y’all get home

Would love to have kids with you!

“I’d call them my 2 piece and a biscuit.”

“The hell is wrong with you.”

“Little mocha babies…”

“CAN YOU—-“

Loves calling you mama(s) or mommy

If you like it it’s fine but if you don’t it’s worse because then he’ll keep going

Despite his confidence he can be very insecure sometimes

You didn’t even know this man could have such a low view of himself but that was about 2 years into the relationship he finally revealed the real him

Yes two years and that’s if y’all already been friends years prior to going out

He doesn’t open up easy but he learns to trust you

Some days he comes back to exhausted and mentally drained but he keeps a fake smile for you.

But you Seen right through his BS.

You don’t try and push any issues too far but you show with action you’re there. Some days you just grab him and place him on top of you on the couch, take off his blindfold and rub his back and hair

He’s gotten real emotional a few times when you did it, mostly because you’ve done it on days he just needed a hug.

You’re his literal teddy bear because of this.

He’s 6’7” so he towers over you when he slings his body on top of yours. He also throws you around a lot

“PUT ME DOWN MF—AH!”

He’ll pull your shorts down and give you brown booty a nice slap before rubbing it a little

“Shut up we’re taking a nap.”

Gojo really loves how you cook btw

Moreso what you bake

Mans has a sweet tooth out of this world so if you are a baker you’re now his personal chef.

Also don’t think the love you have for him is one sided he definitely shows his love for you too. He may be an ass sometimes but he’s an amazing listener.

His advice is usually what’s helps you best. Granted it’s not always what you wanna hear but Gojo is an exceptional listener and observer so if you ever feel bad it doesn’t go unnoticed by him

Can I also add y’all have so many inside jokes omg

The amount of references y’all can do in a conversation is so amazingly scary

Also once a month or so Gojo looks for a new show for you both to binge, and discuss about

Y’all are currently watching Hunter x Hunter together

“Killua would be an excellent student of mine.”

“He’d hate you.”

Dating him is like dating your best friend.

Gojo really likes to just have dates at home, you both cook together, play some video games , and just joke around

Not to say he won’t take you out he most definitely will though.

“I got you this dress be ready by 9…and don’t wear panties.”

“HELLO—“

Nsfw

Gojo is a pervert…he really is.

You didn’t know how bad it was when he was once really drunk and showed you his photo gallery to show you some memes he saved but accidentally showed the album of lewd photos of you on there.

“Oh! Ooooh! Oh this wasn’t the video…haha.”

A whole video of him recording you getting pounded from the back

“SATO—?!”

“Sorry…you look hot though lookit!”

Panty sniffer

Panty stealer

Takes the panties you wear when you’re on your period to replace them with thongs

“My pad wont fit—“

“It’s okay just wear a towel.”

You hate him sm

He casually makes remarks about sex

Like just randomly on a Thursday morning during breakfast

“Baby tonight when you suck my dick can you also sit on my face? I promise you’re not heavy.”

Like mf we are eating French Toast watching Sponegbob what’s wrong with you.

Speaking of being heavy he likes to pick you up and fuck you on the wall

Like

ALOT

He is most definitely the “Gentle lover but fucks you like a beast” trope

Wont admit it but loves eating your ass

He does very long licks when eating you from the back just to lick you ALLLLL THE WAY.

He has asked if you wanted to get your pussy pierced too.

He seen it in a porno and thought it’d look so hot on you.

“But—“

“No.”

Still asks like once a week

Gojo is a Butt man.

That’s why he loves doggy style with you.

The way your pretty melanin is so shiny and wet jiggling off of Gojo’s pelvis makes him so turned on he sometimes can’t last too long

“Fuck baby I’m cuming!” He whines as he slams behind you harder gripping at your thick hair.

His hand is never not on your butt

Ok one more thing on him being a pervert

He really likes taking pictures of you

Like ALOT

Sometimes you’ll know and other you won’t

Which are his favorite.

He has a few videos of you touching yourself without your knowledge and because of this he has 2 phones, one for when he’s out and that other phone hidden where nobody can steal it.

Really wants to make a sex tape with you

Like so bad

He doesn’t even use porn anymore to jack off he’d rather look at a video of you moaning his name

He’ll never admit it but he wants to be dominated by you so bad skshdhdiek

Why do you think he’s so teasing?

Your attitude is the most attractive thing about you and seeing you possibly snap at him one day and have him crying for more is something he hopes for you to do.

Also wanna know what he gave you for your birthday?

A dildo that was molded into the same shape of his dick

“Here! So then when I’m away you can help yourself!…still not as good as the real thing though eh eh.”

This mf is a menace.

[redrosyrose]

Prompt: "Happy Halloween!"-Jegulus-September 5th -@into-the-jeggyverse-word count:526 "I look ridiculous, like a walking aubergine", Regulus mumbles while taking a look at himself in Raven costume, who is a character Sirius told would fit him really well. He doesn't even know where his brother snatched the whole suit from but Regulus has to admit it accentuated his body.

His head is slightly hidden by a long purple cloak, which has a red plastic button in the middle to stop it from falling down, and he's sure that it's also used to cover the tight black suit beneath.

The inner costume is extremely hard to fit, since it's tight and doesn't pliant like he thought, so it took Regulus nearly an hour to put them on. But it's definitely worth the time as he trails his finger down his waist, which looks curvier than normal and his hip is draped around by a big, loose red beads-belt. Though Sirius insisted he wear a wig to look more alike, in the end, he used the "straightener" instead, to straighten Regulus' curls out.

He also never considers his legs as slender or pale, but after Sirius pleads to put his long stocking on, the result amazed Regulus himself and with his brother overly proud, and smug.

When they trudged themselves to Gryffindor's common room, Regulus could tell that every eye is attached to them, as they congregate with the others. The record player is currently screaming some rock music while the streaks of coloured constantly flicker from the disco ball. Their costumes are rather impressive. Remus dresses like David Bowie and a big red thunderbolt is painted on his face, who he's sure can't wait another minute to rip Sirius' red hood girl cloak out.

Accompanied "David Bowie" is James in his Spider suit. God. Has Regulus been staring or Has he been drooling? Because neither of them matters, since James looks that good in the tight suit, he looks like a sculpture. Regulus could see every muscle slightly protrude followed by the movement of his tendon. He needs to assure himself that he's already got to see his abs when they make out, but he's fucking hyperventilated by these little deepened dents, and his thighs, THIGHS!!

While Regulus' mind no longer provides him with coherent thoughts, James slowly slips through crowds and reaches where he's standing with a cup of whiskey.

"Happy Halloween!".James shrieked then immediately gave him a loud smack on his blushed cheeks, Regulus could feel his little dimples formed on his skin and his fresh morning spring scent lingered."You're absolutely stunning, love, you know?", his small sound of whispers like a sweet chocolate, deepened him in its warmth. Regulus rolls his eyes with fondness, as his hand wanders down to his waist, "Of course, Potter. You look well enough." James laughs with his head tipped back, he can see stars sparkling in under his glasses.

Eventually, Dancing Queen suddenly reverberates its lilted melody through the room, mingled with Sirius' shout-out to them. Before he could protest, James is pulling him out for a dance, his face is a mix of delightful, endearing."Happy Halloween."Regulus murmured then quickly kept up to match his pacing.

[jackmanbj]

blondie

summary: you find a piece oh blond hair on jack and wont hear him out

you were walking through the door, you just got out of your last class of day and you were pretty sure jack was down in the basement recording music.

you went downstairs to see what he was working on. you knocked on the studio door “come in” you walked in to find jack at his desk with 5 paper balls rolled up by him and a pen in his hand.

“hi baby, you need anything? food? water?” “no mamas im good, but come sit down with me” “ok.”

you walked over yo to jack and sat on his lap looking down at the paper and started reading “this is really good jack!” “thank you baby” you turned around to give jack a kiss until you noticed there was a blond piece of hair on his shirt.

“jackman thomas fucking harlow” “what did i do..?” you quickly got off his lap picking up the blond hair “whos hair is this?” “baby its yours” “jack. please dont fucking play with me right now, how is it my hair and i have a red wig in? and my natural hair color is black” “baby its yours!” “whats her name? is she white?” “GIRL!” “jackman!” you put the blond hair next to your wig “hhmmm this doesn’t match to me, does it match yo you??” “bab-“ “nope ion wanna hear it, and stop calling me baby, you obviously got some other bitch you be calling baby now i should beat your ass then go beat hers right fucking after cause WHOOO you playin with??”

you started walking to your room pulling out the biggest suitcase your had jack following close on your trail.

“ma what are you doing?!” “you never answered my question!” “what is your question?” “IS SHE WHITE??” “NO BECAUSE THERE IS NO OTHER GIRL!!” “STOP LYING TO ME!”

you opened the suitcase and laid it flat on the bed and made your way to jacks side of the closet “since you wanna cheat on me your living with urban now bitch” “I DID NOT CHEAT ON YOU!” “WHATS HER NAME JACKMAN?!” “THERE IS NO NAME!!”

you starter pulling all jacks clothes out the closet and putting them in the suitcase, leaving them still folded/ on the hanger.

“baby-“ “AHT! shut the fuck up!” “BABY YIUR LAST WIG WAS BLOND! YOU BROUGHT THIS SHIRT WHEN YOU HAD THE WIG ON! YOUR HAIR PROBABLY GOT ON THE WIG!!”

..

“oh. ok” you started humming and putting jack clothes back on the hanger while jack stared at you in disbelief “crazy ass” “you love me though” you blew jack a kiss and he walked over to you kissing you back “you know your getting punished for this later right??” “at least you know whats up if you tried to cheat on me”

[neo404]

Nick x Drag Queen reader

How you guys meet:

"Hey, Lovy (your stage name). Boss told me there is a birthday boy today, make sure to do your special song for him. I’ll leave you the name here." My friend and coworker leave a note on my desk as I keep putting make up on my face.

"All right, thanks."

"Have a great show." they pat me on the shoulder and leave.

The show was great, all of the Queens were amazing as usual. The last and longest act was mine, since I love to talk and Im friends with the bar owner.

My music plays and I get on stage with a bright smile, some people clap, some people scream. I dance until my first two songs end. Then I grab the microphone that’s on stage.

"A little manager told me; someone is having his birthday todaaaaay." I say scanning the room for the birthday boy. "Where are you? raise your hand to receive your gift." I see a guy slowly raise his hand, brunet hair and surrounded of friends who made fun of him for his red cheeks, perfect, my favorite kind of show. "Ohhh, I see you. I’m coming baby." I walk down the stage and to his table, the "birthday" music started to play, it’s just a song we always play on birthdays and the Queen on stage will dance for whoever is celebrating that day.

I stand in front of him and I see him gulp at my sigh, he tries to meet my eyes but is too shy to do it. "What’s your name?"

"I-... Nick."

I put the microphone close to my lips again. "Everyone give an applause for Nick." The bar claps, and shouts and whistles for his, he giggles. I leave the mic on his table and I start my performance. I dance for him and him alone.

When the music stops, I was sitting on his right leg, microphone on my hand. His friends holding back laughter and recording us, mostly his red face.

"Happy birthday, Nick." I said and stood up to walk to stage. "Oh." I turn around., "If you want to buy me a drink, my shift ends in 1 hour." I wink at him, the lights turn off and when they turn back on, I was on stage again, my next two songs playing on the speakers.

your shift ends.

"AHHHH, my knees hurt. Why did I choose floor work as a statement for me????" one of my coworkers complain.

"Girl, ask me. My neck hurts, I regret buying those big ass wigs." someone else says.

"Why are you so distracted??" the first one said.

"Nothing."

"Cute birthday boy."

"SHHHH. No, it’s not that, god." I roll my eyes. "See you tomorrow." I wave at them.

"Byeeee, tell us how your date goes." I roll my eyes at this and go outside, hopping that he stayed to buy me a drink.

The manager was standing outside the changing room.

"Wh-"

"Birthday boy wants to buy you a drink. Is he cool or creep? do i kick him out? do I call security?"

"Its fine Ali. I told him he could. thanks for worrying." I kiss their cheek and walk to the main room, searching for him, I can see him... Nick, I can see Nick standing close to the bar nervously looking back to his friends who hyped him up.

I walk to him and stand beside him, leaning into the bar.

"Hi, Larry. Can you make me a margarita?" I turn around and look at him. "Waiting for someone?"

"Oh, hi. I didn’t see you coming." He nervously adjusts his shirt and takes a sip of his water. "What drink do you want?"

"Already ordered."

"Oh... great. Uh, great show. I loved that thing you did on stage when you stood on a chair and all that thing."

"Thanks, Nick."

"How do you know my name??" he seems very nervous. How cute.

"You told me."

"RIGHT! I forgot, how embarrassing." his cheeks light up again.

"You are cute."

"Uh?"

"You are cute, Nick."

After long hours of talking and a quick exchange of numbers, you and Nick start to become closer and closer every time you guys hang out.

He loves to go to your shows, alone or with his friends.

Once the two of you start dating, he will show you off (more than he used to do), he will drag his friends to see you perform, he will post your reels or posts on his stories, he will take millions of pictures and videos of you performing (in everyone video you can hear him scream).

He loves to stare at you while you put your make up and wig on. He thinks you look sexy while doing it.

He will 100% let you dress him up and put make up on him.

Will go with you to buy make up or clothes.

Always wants to be the highest tip after your shows.

Fall in love with you more every time he sees you in high heels or boots.

Always reminds you how much he loves you and how amazed he is at your hard work.

Will kiss your bruised knees (if you do floor work) or massage your back and neck.

Nick will bring flowers to your performances to cheer you up.

Overall, he is the best boyfriend you could ask for.

Taglist: @freshloveforthefit @shywolfapricotfan @sturnphilia @matty-bear @thenickgirl @stvrniolvsp @paige05 @soursturniolo @miloisdone1 @teenagetrash00 @lovely-calypso @h3arts4harry @malirosee

[mundrakan]

Prompt: Drama

@wolfstarmicrofic - 266 words

He walked in on high heels, with glittery hair and even more glittery make-up. Remus hated to see him like this, the naturally silky hair covered with a pompous wig, his eyes red from the contact lenses.

They had argued about it, but it had gotten nowhere. Glam was the call of the day, and so be it.

Now though, now Sirius pulled the wig down and threw it into a corner in deep frustration. “I hate this. All of this.”

As if Remus hadn't told him. As if his voice couldn't carry them to the very top. As if he needed all these trinkets. But now was not a time for I told you so. “Let's make a record. Just for us. You and me. The love song you wrote me, maybe. The ballad about the Black dog. Starshine.” All the songs Sirius had deemed to personal for their commercial work.

Unplugged didn't make Rock history. Not right away. No one wanted to hear it in the early 80s. Nowadays the few remaining copies go for several ten thousands, and even remastered versions are highly valued collector pieces.

The TV stops and Harry looks at his shelf, where rows after rows of vinyl wait. He never quite understood why this was his favourite, when Dad and his skill on the drums wasn't even part of it – only Uncle Remus' guitar (acoustic for a change) and Uncle Sirius' voice. Several ten thousand, huh? He wouldn't sell it for a million. Or two. Three maybe, from the right person, but only if they shared it afterwards.

[anqelblccm]

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ MIGHTY DEVIL RECORDS’ HERO CONFIRMED TO ATTEND THIS YEAR’S MET GALA  ! 

HERO,  the  sensational  soloist  from  MIGHTY  DEVIL  RECORDS,  is  all  set  to  make  waves  at  this  year's  MET GALA!  fans  are  buzzing  with  excitement  as  the  news  of  his  attendance  spreads  like  wildfire  across  social  media  platforms.

known  for  his  killer  vocals  and  trendsetting  style,  HERO  is  poised  to  steal  the  spotlight  on  the  iconic  red  carpet.  as  one  of  the  hottest  names  in  the  music  industry,  his  presence  at  the  MET GALA  is  expected  to  elevate  the  glamour  to  new  heights.

the theme for MET GALA 2024 is SLEEPING BEAUTIES: REAWAKENING FASHION while the dress code is THE GARDEN OF TIME, and fans  are  already  speculating  about  what  HERO  will  wear.  whatever  his  choice,  one  thing's  for  sure  —  HERO  will  bring  his  a-game  and  show  the  world  why  he's  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with!

01. if he doesn't come through those doors looking like the gayest gay ever, i'm going to fucking riot!

02. he better not look camp right in the eye.

03. the theme is sleeping beauties so if he doesn't have a blonde wig mighty devil better watch out

04. do y'all remember when tomie, mew, rosario and persona attended the 2022 met gala?? mighty devil knows what they're doing because hero will end up looking fly as FUCK

05. GET THE FUCK OFF MY DICK I NEED HIM AND SABRINA CARPENTER TOGETHER IN ONE FRAME

06. he’s gonna pull out some true pussy popping shit i can feel it in my bones

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS?

[mercysong-tardis]

Meeting Alex Kingston in Moll Flanders cosplay at FanX 2023

Just over a year ago, a little birdy (@now-theres-a-spoiler-for-you) informed me that to the best of her knowledge, Alex Kingston had never seen a Moll Flanders cosplayer. And as an avid appreciator of the Miniseries, I took it upon myself to become the first.

The Miniseries, "The Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders" (1996) of which Alex Kingston starred in alongside Daniel Craig, was Alex's major breakout role which led to her role on ER and her subsequent claim to fame. So considering the prevolence, I had to make it special.

I put in a LOT of work researching, sourcing fabric, internet deep-diving, and reading before I ever got started on the dress. The actual hard work of sewing the dress took a few months to make once the initial homework was done. Undergarments? Structuring? Patterns? All of these took a lot of guesswork on my part.

The original was created by costume designer, Trisha Biggar (Which if you are in the costuming community you will know her as the designer of Padme Amidala's wardrobe and the designer for Outlander) for the 1996 miniseries. The dress was constructed of fabric Trisha Thrifted in the 1960s in Sweden, most of which I am fairly certain is Indian Fabric specifically used for Banarasi Sarees. The dress is inspired by a common silhouette from the 1670s London England, based on common evening gowns worn at the time. Considering the substantial trade happening between India and England at that time, it makes sense that a dress is fine as this would’ve been historically constructed with Banarasi silk.

The original evening gown:

Sadly, I cannot afford to construct a dress entirely out of silk in this American economy, so sourced much of my fabric overseas and while I was in Egypt and Israel this summer. The rest of it was either Thrifted or appliquéd by hand by me. All of the notions and ribbons were Thrifted. I believe in doing everything possible to keep cosplay sustainable. There is a video on my TikTok which goes into detail on my construction process.

But once the dress was done, I was ecstatic, and It was time to debut it at a convention. The morning of Thursday FanX SLC, I got some pictures (in my River wig to preserve my curled hair) and this is how they turned out...

Then it was time to show The Queenston herself. I had been a little bit stressed that she wouldn't recognise the dress or wouldn't be very interested, but I held out hope.

Spoiler Alert; I had NOTHING to worry about.

Before I got to Alex, I got an autograph from Karen Gillan, who's table was next to Alex's. While in line, I was staring in awe at Alex, as she was just under twenty feet away. In between people, Alex glanced up to the crowd, then did a double take, and leaned over her table to see me through the crowd. Her mouth dropped open, she pointed straight at me, and she got all excited, and mouthed “You! Moll Flanders! Wow!” Time slowed down and I froze until I gave her a big smile (and I think a thumbs up?) and I was so starstruck that I was convinced I was hallucinating until she added “you look amazing!” still smiling, before going back to the next person. 

When I got to her table, she greeted me as Moll,and she said she'd "Never ever, ever seen a Moll cosplayer!" and I got to tell her that I made the dress. Alex absolutely loved my Moll Flanders cosplay. She told me it was the first one she’d ever seen. She was so sweet. I wasn’t anxious at all. I was so excited to finally meet her but I didn’t cry. I was actually so relaxed, which came as a surprise, as I have a track record of being emotionally overwhelmed and crying in front of Celebrities.

She was so nice and was so impressed with the dress. We got a Photo together and she ended up grabbing the shackles (is it even Alex Kingston without a cheeky touch?)

Then she signed my Making of Moll Flanders book and she flipped through it “oh this really takes me back. This was my favorite dress. The red velvet one. It was quite warm. I loved the big hat!”

For reference this is the dress she was talking about:

Then she looked up back at my dress and asked me “aren’t they fun to wear? Don’t you feel sexy?”

I said yes.

I was a liar.

I was actually incredibly uncomfortable but I would NEVER SAY THAT TO THE QUEENSTON.

So I just smiled and said yes. (I did feel sexy but 17 hours tightlaced in 1670s stays is not fun to wear)

Then at the photo op, Alex played with my hair XD

So that is the story of my most insane cosplay yet! I hope you enjoyed all you people out there on the internet.

[homoirrealis]

Alex Savior & Alex Turner

Alexandra Savior in a 2016 interview to NME “And opening up to a realm where there’s a bar– and there’s nobody in it, it’s dark, and there’s just a dark red light in the corner.”

“And then there’s a woman crooning in a long, black dress”

"Shades" music video vs "TBHC" music video moment... - The shabby film... (sorta homemade)... in both videos... On directing the video for the "SHADES": I recorded it with a camcorder and edited it myself—that's why it's so shitty. [laughs] ... I had no concept. It wasn't like, "Oh, what aspect of this was inspired by the song?" or anything. It was just that my best friend and I wanted to go to Death Valley for free. I was like, "I can write this off on my taxes!" So we went to Goodwill and bought a cheap suit and a wig. - the red fucking light that she refers to 2016 interview... - crooning singer? Lounge singer-shimmer? - “Dress me like the front of a casino, push me down another rabbit hole” Alexandra Saviour - Mirage - "Handsome dictator of my crimes I can't tell if they're yours, I can't tell if they're mine." Alexandra Savior - Howl

I honestly don't know what I'm trying to say... Just need your demons to respond to mine I guess... - Has he inspired her? Has she inspired him? - Was she the reason for TBHC's haunted sound? - Why so many parallels? - Where does Miles fit in this all? Taylor? - Is it me or does Alexandra look suspiciously like Louise Verneuil?

Do you know what her stage name was to begin with...? Fucking sitting down? Alexandra Semitone "I can lift you up another semitone" Arctic Monkeys - 4 stars out of 5 And this is a milex blog... and will stay that way... but do you see the logic in my madness?

[jerzwriter]

The way I screamed when I received this commission! I was going to wait until it was a little closer to Halloween to post, but I'm not that patient! @/artbyainna (IG) knocked it out of the park again!

On the Spot

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (MC) Featuring: Vivian Carrick, Jordan Carrick, Sammy and Brooke Category: Halloween Fluff Rating: Teen Words: 1284 Summary: It's their first Halloween as parents of two, and things are a little crazy at the Carrick's, but it's nothing they can't handle. A/N: Participating in @choicesoctober - Costume/Halloween and @choicesprompts Flufftober - Found Family (Okay, it's a stretch... but it is really fluffy lol)

Chaos. It’s to be expected in any home with little children, and the Carrick household was no exception. But, on certain days, the chaos was dialed up just a notch. And Halloween, with all of its events, costumes, and free-flowing sugar, was certainly one of them. Casey was running around, tending to her long to-do list, when the clock struck one.

“Shit!” she spat, peeking her head into the kitchen. “Tobias, you’re going to take care of feeding Brooke, right?”

“Absolutely,” her husband beamed, quickly returning to making silly faces at their giggling baby girl. “I've got this. You go take care of yourself, babe.”  

But the makeup kit on the table in the hallway reminded Casey of one more thing she had forgotten to do. Grabbing it, she made a beeline to the living room, where her mother-in-law, Vivian, was having a very important tea date with her older daughter, Samantha.

“Hey! Tobias is taking care of feeding Brooke. Would you be able to do Sammy’s makeup so I can get dressed?”

Vivian shot her beloved daughter-in-law a look that just screamed... really? But her reply was far more diplomatic.

“Casey, dear. What do you think I’m here for?”

“To be an utter pain in my ass,” Tobias yelled from the kitchen.

Vivian let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you married him. Don’t misunderstand,” she quickly corrected. “I’m delighted that you did... I just don’t... understand it.”

“Aw, Viv, you know I love him.”

“And I'm appreciative," she grinned. "Now, go... get dressed, dear. I'm happy to do my little angel’s makeup.”

Casey rushed upstairs and pulled a teeny black dress from her closet, quickly shimmying into it while stepping into her red heels. After placing a wig on her head, she put her makeup on at record speed. Then, she looked around her room in a panic.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! Did I leave my shawl at the hospital? Oh my god... I think I left my shawl at the hospital!”

She was frantically searching when Tobias stepped in.  While his eyes traced every single curve on her body, he let out a slow whistle, which brought Casey’s attention his way.

“Damn, baby! Look at you!" He hissed. "Do we have to go trick or treating? I could tell my Mom to take the girls, then you and I could stay home and work on baby number three.”  

 “Really?” She smirked.  “You know damn well there is not going to be a baby number three, Dr. Carrick.  Not unless you want to find another wife.”  

“Well, that’s not happening,” he assured. His arms encircled her waist as he nudged her hair aside and pressed a warm kiss on her neck before continuing. “I'm all right with just pretending to make baby number three.”

“Tobias Carrick,” she giggled. “Are you seriously suggesting not going trick or treating with our little girls?"

“Nah,” he grinned. “I’d never miss that. We'll save our private celebration for later. Now, why were you panicking when I walked in?”

“I can’t find my shawl! Without it, I won’t look like Cruella. I’ll look like I'm running a brothel!”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he laughed, handing her the shawl. “Looking for this, babe.”

Casey’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Oh, thank God! How the heck didn’t I see that?”

“Because you’re doing a hundred things at once.  Let me help.”

“You can help by getting into your costume. We have to introduce Boston to the sexiest dog catcher it’s ever seen.”

“Yeah, I still think you picked that costume so you can tell me it’s my job to run after Sammy all day.”

“Hey, why do you think I bought you that big net?” she smiled.

Tobias’s eyes glistened. “Just remember,” he said, kissing Casey’s cheek. “Once we put our little puppies to bed tonight, the only thing I’m going to be chasing is you.”

“Hmm... why do you think I got you that big net,” she teased.

“That will definitely be fun.”

“I’m going downstairs,” Casey said, pulling herself away. “It's not fair to ask your mom to get both of the puppies ready.”

“Are you kidding? That woman nagged me for grandkids for nearly three decades. This is payback.”

“Tobias?” Casey playfully admonished.

“OK. Go. Go. But make sure you tell my mom that any Butterfingers the girls get trick or treating are mine!”

“Babe, we have six bags of Butterfingers to hand out; you can keep one for yourself if you like."  

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

“Well... I like that... but still... it’s the principle. She needs to know every Butterfinger on the planet doesn't belong to her!”

“Yes, dear....” she laughed as she headed for the door. "I'll see what I can do."

~~~~~ 

Thirty minutes later:

“Hey, Sammy! Look at Uncle Jordan! The camera loves you, sweetie!”

“It was so nice of you to come take our pictures,” Casey smiled.

“For my three favorite relatives?” Jordan flashed a bright smile. “I’d do anything.”

“Real nice,” Tobias chided. “Omitting one of our girls from your favorite relatives.”

“Oh, you know you were the one being left out of that equation, big brother,” Jordan laughed.

All heads turned when the front door of their townhome creaked open.

“Well, you better up your favorite relatives list to four, son. Otherwise, these two little girls could easily replace you in my will.”

“Why didn’t tell me she was here?” Jordan asked Tobias through clenched teeth.

“Because it’s much more fun this way,” he gleefully replied.

“Guys!” Casey called out. “As much as I live for Carrick family banter, can we finish taking the pictures? Sammy’s daycare party is starting soon.”

“Leave it to my two idiots to make this precious little girl late,” Vivian scolded.

Not wishing to push his mother any further, Jordan decided to speed things up.

“All right, let’s get the family picture taken. Do you think there is any chance we can get Brooke to look this way?”

Casey shook her head. “Jordan, the chances of getting them to simultaneously look in your direction are slim. Just do your best.  No one expects perfection.”

“Uncle Jowdan,” Sammy giggled. “Look! I’m a doggie, I’m growl... RAH.”

“Oh, that’s good!” Jordan approved.  “That’s good! Keep doing that.”

As he snapped away, little Brooke began gumming Tobias’s cheek, leaving him and Casey laughing with that overjoyed grin only new parents seemed to achieve.

SNAP!

 “That’s going to be the winning shot right there!” Jordan declared.

“Thanks, brother,” Tobias smiled, shaking Jordan’s hand. “Are you coming to the party?”

“Do you have room in your car? I thought you were taking Mom?  Where did she go anyway?”

A guilty-looking Vivian turned around just before she entered the front door.

Casey couldn’t help but laugh. “Vivian. Were you heading in for the Butterfingers? I can easily get you your own bag on the way back home. There is no need to steal Tobias’s.”

“It’s da pwinciple,” Sammy giggled as Casey rubbed her temples.

“Oh, no! I can’t handle three of them!”

“Mom, get in the car already,” Jordan cackled. “I’ll stay behind and edit the pictures.  I'll join you for trick or treating after.”

“Editing?” Tobias shrugged.  “Look at these subjects? They'll be perfect. What do you have to do?”

“Uhm... photoshop your hand to a more appropriate place on your wife. It is a family photo, big brother,” he snickered. “Talk about butterfingers.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Vivian spat out, holding Sammy’s ears. “The amount of therapy your poor child is going to need!”

“She’ll be just fine,” Casey laughed. “Now, Tobias, please drive, we’re running late.”

"Fine," he said, starting the car, but not before yelling out the window. "Jordan!"

"Yeah?"

"Leave my hand exactly where it was," he winked. "We're married, for God's sake."

"Ah, yes," Casey sighed. "It's a very Carrick Halloween."

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @openheartfanart

Other tags on reblog.

[yvesdot]

Well, this is new! I watched the entire VMAs (just about) for the first time ever, and here is my official writeup—less so for Dots (certainly not a public-facing project), more for all my friends I want to gossip with. Here’s everything I’m going to be talking about for the next few days that happened at the VMAs, with helpful links to all the available clips.

Before anything happened, Kendrick released a new song on Instagram. This immediately trended alongside the VMAs for the rest of the night.

*

Chappell Roan snapped at a photographer on the red carpet. It’s still frankly unclear to me what happened—in the video I’ve seen passed around, you hear a voice in the background say “shut the fuck up,” to which Chappell turns and retorts, “you shut the fuck up!” When they apparently protest, she shuts them down, saying, “not me, bitch!” It’s unclear whether the photographer in question was originally talking to her, or to another photographer, and also whether she was accusing him of saying anything to her. I’m not personally invested in finding out more.

*

Eminem opened by performing “Houdini” and “Someone Save Me;” I showed up halfway through with the volume on mute and had no idea why that man was wearing the world’s worst blonde wig. I do think the obvious visual reference to his original VMAs “Slim Shady” performance is genuinely cute. It is unbelievable he still rapped the “If I was to ask for Megan Thee Stallion if she would collab with me / Would I really have a shot at a feat [shot at her feet]?” lines with Megan Thee Stallion hosting.

*

Megan was adorable and an excellent host. She is so funny, so genuine, so easy to watch and so good at balancing being personable and competent. Honestly, she and Chappell gave some very similar energy tonight and it made me wonder if they know each other (I am not very aware of Chappell things—yet!) She was also, naturally, exceptionally well-dressed. The crowd absolutely loved her.

*

Taylor immediately won the “Best Collaboration” award for Fornite with Post Malone, which began a streak of 7 awards won that night, mostly for that one song, despite the fact that her latest album has been one of her worst-received by fans and critics alike. (This is not a comment on whether the songs on the album are good or not, just on the relative success in comparison with her past work and the reception of other projects nominated. It’s surprising.) Her seven awards were the aforementioned Best Collaboration, Song of Summer, Best Pop, Artist of the Year, Best Direction, Best Editing, and Video of the Year at the end of the night. This ties her with Beyonce for most VMAs ever won. She also claims a number of other records, but I am not going to list all that. 

I will tell you that she opened this acceptance speech with “Waking up this morning in New York on September 11th, I’ve just been thinking about what happened 23 years ago; everyone who lost a loved one and everyone that we lost. That is the most important thing about today and everything that happens tonight falls behind that,” and then continued as if this had been a normal thing to say and/or she had not said it.

I’m still frustrated at the timing of her endorsement of Harris coincidentally last night. It feels too obviously set up to quell rising fan anger and ensure every award she won would be “untainted” by people’s criticisms of her.

*

Megan recreated the iconic Britney-with-a-snake look.

*

Sabrina Carpenter performed a lovely medley. She opened singing “Please Please Please” (with the “motherfucker!”) on a swing, descended to a couple of audio clips including the iconic Britney line about Titanic from her “Oops! I Did it Again” music video, performed “Taste” with an astronaut and an alien (she did kiss the femalien, though Britney Spears (!) commented she ought to have kissed a girl), and transitioned into “Espresso” with a few dozen astronaut backup dancers. I loved her outfit and especially the lipstick mark on her thigh (!!?!!), and I have to give her credit for doing this insane performance setup in front of both Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello, about whom “Taste” was allegedly written.

*

Katy Perry accepted the previously-announced Video Vanguard Award and performed a medley of tracks—in order, “Dark Horse,” “E.T.,” new track “I’m His, He’s Mine” featuring Doechii, “California Gurls,” “Teenage Dream,” “I Kissed a Girl” (rock version), “Firework,” and “Lifetimes.” You may notice that “Woman’s World” was nowhere on this list. Also, during their performance of “I’m His, He’s Mine,” Katy and Doechii scissored in a possible reference to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s 2021 Grammys performance of W.A.P., and MTV cut directly to Orlando Bloom in a likely reference to the Britney/Madonna/Christina VMAs kiss where they cut to Justin Timberlake.

In my opinion, it was a great performance from the choice of tracks to the aesthetic(s) to her voice. She clearly still has it! However, people audibly booed when her name was announced and several times as she gave her speech, which, side note, opened with ““I did that all too on the first day of my period, if you can believe it!” It didn’t help that she chose to—well, look, here’s the whole thing, bold by me.

Can you believe it? Thank you so much to MTV for believing in my weirdness from day one and for helping artists extend their worlds beyond a song. There are so many things that have to align to have a long and successful career as an artist. There are no decade-long accidents. (a long, meaningful pause, during which people booed) So I would like to acknowledge a few people: my team who have been with me for over 20 years, direct management, and my label Capitol Records.

Trust me, it takes a village of strong people, a lot of healthy discourse, and a lot of group chats. My parents and my family, the deepest roots I know. We don’t always agree, but what a lesson that those disagreements can still be full of love. Thank you to MySpace, Warped Tour, and all the bygone places where I found a voice, identity, and a community so early on. Thank you to the friends that were there when my Jetta was repossessed. My Katy Cats: You stood by me for a lifetime, and the LGBTQ community who I recognize I would not be here without and who show me that you can be both kind and [bleeped out—”cunt”?]. Thank you to Orlando for keeping me grounded, celebrated, and doing the dishes. And lastly for my Daisy [her daughter], the only flowers I’ll ever need.

I’m excited when I look around music today, and I see all the amazing young artists who are operating with confidence, agency, vulnerability and authenticity. I’ve heard a lot of “Do this, don’t say that, wear less, wear more now. Hey, don’t cut your hair.” One of the biggest reasons I’m standing here right now is I learned how to block out all the noise that every single artist in this industry has to constantly fight against, especially women. I just wanna say with my whole heart, do whatever it takes to stay true to yourself and true to your art. Turn off social media, safeguard your mental health, pause, touch grass. And do what you were born to do just like I was born to do this. 143 comes out September 20. I love you!

I probably don’t need to say it, but I find it incredibly upsetting and disappointing that she would frame the criticism of her, which has centered almost entirely on her working with Dr. Luke, someone whom numerous women have accused of being misogynist and generally abusive, as “noise that women artists have to deal with.”

Also, I don’t have video proof of this, but they played a truly bizarre intro to the award where they called her “the queen of camp” and said “she’s a mother and she IS mother” and I don’t know what to do about that. They did play the world’s briefest audio snippet of “Woman’s World” during that.

*

Chappell Roan performed “Good Luck Babe” and nothing else, which nonetheless seemed to quiet upset fans whose shows were canceled with little notice last week due to the “scheduling conflict” of Chappell deciding to do the VMAs. I wish the mixing had been better; I could barely hear her voice! But the aesthetic was lovely (very Dorian Electra “Man to Man”) and the set was extremely well-used. She definitely seems unused to performing in this more regimented style, but there’s an infinite amount of time for her to either get comfortable with it or adapt it more to her usual performance method of running all over the stage.

*

Tyla won Best Afrobeats for “Water,” obviously. Lil Nas X (presenting the award with Halle) could be heard saying “But we already knew, though, right?” as she approached the stage. She gave the world’s most diplomatic speech which acknowledged that African music is (obviously) more diverse than the label “Afrobeats.”

*

Megan delivered an incredible medley performance: “BOA,” a sample of “Wanna Be,” “B.A.S,” a sample of “RATTLE,” “HISS,” and “MAMUSHI”—with a surprise appearance by featured artist Yuki Chiba, in a cool hat! And may I just say, for all-around stage presence, choreography, vocals, delivery, everything, Megan stole the show 100%. And that’s with all the ridiculous censoring she had to do! If you are not into Megan, you need to be, now. She is the moment.

*

Benson Boone did a flip (1:29) while performing “Beautiful Things,” a song I found myself hearing for the second time ever. It is apparently the song of the summer to many people. That’s cool! I genuinely had never heard it in my life before this week. He’s clearly an exceptionally talented performer, so let’s see where he goes.

*

Sabrina Carpenter won “Song of the Year” for “Espresso” and seemed genuinely shocked, somehow.

*

Halsey did an absolutely gorgeous performance of “Ego,” a song I hadn’t heard before but found myself liking. I should get into Halsey!

*

Camila, the other half (?) of the Camila-Shawn-Sabrina love triangle, with an album which underperformed (especially in comparison to Sabrina’s), faked out the audience (including her ex and his sometime-other-girl!) by pretending to play “June Gloom,” the closer from the standard edition of the album about why he runs back to her if he really likes Sabrina so much, and then cutting the recording off to actually sing “GODSPEED,” the closer off the deluxe version—and the latest single, dropped only last week. Apparently it’s the first track she wrote for this era, after a breakup with an entirely different ex. Point being, I give her a lot of props for just how much that moment rocked.

I suppose as a professional I ought to say all this is only allegedly what the songs are about. But, you know, we know.

*

You know Glorilla rocked the house down. Having seen her in SF, I could tell just how much she’d improved since then, not just in her performing skills generally but in her confidence. You go, Glo.

*

Chappell Roan won “Best New Artist” in a moment everyone saw coming a mile away and read her acceptance speech from her diary. She’s so cute!

*

Video of the Year went to Taylor and she shouted out “my boyfriend, Travis Kelce,” in her speech. This is not news, but people screamed like it was? She also told people to vote. None of this is really important to me but you need to know that I went to r/GaylorSwift again after several months’ abstention as a result of the way people were talking about it. People chanted Taylor’s name. Also, Megan initially opened the little card upside down, which was adorable.

*

Best performances of the night: Katy Perry, Megan Thee Stallion, and Halsey.

Most deserved wins of the night: 

Chappell Roan (Best New Artist)

“Espresso” (Song of the Year)

“Water” (Best Afrobeats)

“Mamushi” (Best Trending Video, though any pick might have been good)

“BOA” (Best Art Direction)

Biggest snubs of the night: 

“Not Like Us” (Song of Summer, “Fortnight”)

“Paparazzi” (VMAs Most Iconic Performance, “Roar” — a case where any other pick would have been better)

Sabrina Carpenter (Artist of the Year, Taylor Swift)

Glorilla & Megan Thee Stallion’s “Wanna Be” (Best Collaboration, “Fortnight”)

Olivia Rodrigo, Sabrina Carpenter (Best Pop, Taylor Swift)

“Too Sweet” (Best Alternative, “Beautiful Things”)

“Von dutch” (Best Cinematography, “we can’t be friends (wait for your love)”)

“Rush” by Troye Sivan and “greedy” by Tate Mcrae (Best Choreography, “Houdini”)

Additionally, “Espresso” was not nominated for Song of Summer (“Please Please Please” was), and Britney’s “Slave 4 U” was not nominated for VMAs Most Iconic Performance.

Here’s the full list of nominations and wins. 

Here’s my compilation of favorite outfits. Katy Perry wore a QR code tramp stamp which led to preorders for her album.

*

Other thoughts:

LISA and Anitta and Rauw Alejandro’s performances were also great! I don’t know that this was the best intro to their songs (my stream was not excellent quality) but I’m glad I stuck around!

Ads for HIV medication and Kamala Harris played throughout the night. There was one ad of Camila’s “I LUV IT” playing while she did insane things and drank Bacardi that almost made me dislike the song.

Charli not being anywhere near this event was criminal. I know she has the Sweat tour to rehearse for (I’m going to see her! AHHHH!!!!) but I really felt her absence. People also expected Taylor and Ariana to perform, and neither of them did—Ariana wasn’t even present! Lady Gaga wasn’t, either, which is a possible reason “Paparazzi” didn’t win Most Iconic VMAs Performance; apparently the VMAs prefer to give awards to artists who are present so they can give a live speech. Meanwhile, they gave Artist of the Year to Taylor Swift for the second year in a row and didn’t air it because she was walking in and out. Make of that what you will.

I successfully predicted the results of 5 awards (Best New Artist: Chappell Roan, Best Afrobeats: Tyla, Best Direction: Fortnight, Best Editing: Fortnight, and Video of the Year: Fortnight). Next year I might just start gambling and put it all on TSwift; it seems an easy victory.

Let me know if you want more of this sort of thing! I've done it for presidential debates in the past, too, though that was Patreon-exclusive. Heck, if I wasn't on hiatus, this might have been, too ^__^

[howlingday]

Aura equilibrium with them dressed in a FGO couples costume with jaune as shirou and gillian as sakura or other costumes your choice.

Also about my other asks..?

Nora: AW~! Don't you guys look cute~?

Jaune: Uh, I guess?

Jaune looked down at his costume. Although, costume might be a stretch. To be honest, he looked like how he'd normally would with the exception of the moppy, red wig. He looked over to Gillian, the former criminal wearing a more... casual form of fancy? She wore a red ribbon in her hair and her clothes included a brown vest over a white blouse shirt, tied off with another red ribbon just under her collar.

Jaune: I get that you wanted to dress us up in your favorite anime, Nora, but I don't really know what I'm supposed to be.

Nora: Don't ask me. It was Gilly's idea.

Gillian: I-It was not! I only told you that I enjoyed the series, not that I intended for us to be dressed like thi-

Nora: (Taps scroll)

Gillian: (Recording) A costume? Well, if I had it my way, your leader and I would be dressed as my OTP from my favorite series, Fate/Stay Night.

Nora: (Taps)

Jaune: (Pink in the cheeks)

Gillian: (Red in the face)

[maigeiko]

The look of... VII: Mukojima

Welcome to the 18th installment of this series (my 7th). This time, we’re having a look at the Geigi that work in one of Tokyo's Hanamachi: Mukojima (向島).

Historical context Geisha started to live in Mukojima in the early Meiji period (1868-1912) [1]. From the Edo to Meiji period, Mukojima was a recreational area for the common people, and was frequented by Yanagibashi and Yoshiwara Geisha with their customers. [3] The earliest record of a Mukojima Geisha (known to me) is Omomo お百, who was featured in "Contemporary Beauties", 1897 [2]. In 1906, 30 Geisha lived in the area. By 1928, their number had increased to 239. In 1940, several Kenban united, further increasing the number of Mukojima Geisha to 1300. Like in all Hanamachi around Japan, their number declined steadily after the second world war. In 1951, their number was 600, in 1993 240 [7], in 1996 170, in 2007 120 [3], in 2020 around 90 [4]. This makes Mukojima approximately as populated as Gion Kobu and Tokyo's largest Hanamachi.

The look of Mukojima Geiko. Local Term: Geisha 芸者 ※ Hairstyle: Taka shimada, Tsubushi shimada ※ Kanzashi: Kushi, Maezashi, Hirauchi or Tama in the back, rice husk in the new year period ※ Makeup: Oshiroi ※ Kimono: everyday Kimono: Homongi. Kuromontsuki Hikizuri mostly in the new year period or for Erikae, rarely non-black Hikizuri. ※ Haneri: white ※ Obi: Taiko musubi, Yanagi musubi with Kuromontsuki Hikizuri, Tsunodashi musubi with other Hikizuri ※ Obijime: mostly light-coloured. No obijime with yanagi musubi ※ Obiage: mostly red, pink, or white. Seldomly turquoise, white/green, white with red shibori (red/red-white shibori with Kuromontsuki) ※ Footwear: mostly Zori, also Geta

Casual/Jikata look ※ Hairstyle: Yohatsu ※ Kanzashi: none ※ Makeup: western makeup ※ Kimono: Homongi, Kurotomesode ※ Eri: white ※ Obi: Taiko musubi ※ Obijime: mostly light-coloured. In rare cases with pocchiri ※ Obiage: white with red shibori, pink, white, pink/turquoise ※ Footwear: Zori

The look of Mukojima Maiko. Local term: Hangyoku 半玉 ※ Hairstyle: Momoware (own hair or wig), Yuiwata for senior Hangyoku (only wig). Shibori, Kanoko and Chinkoro are mostly red, but can also be pink during summer. ※ Kanzashi: seasonal flower kanzashi (1-2 Daikan, Katsuyama, 1-2 Bira-Ôgi, Shidare popular during the entire apprenticeship), Maezashi (optional), Hirauchi. Minimal flower kanzashi with Yuiwata. ※ Makeup: Oshiroi, both lips painted from the start ※ Kimono: Furisode with or without tucks (all variations possible) ※ Eri: mostly white or red/white. But also pink/red, red/purple/green on white base, pink, green, black/pink/white, etc., etc. ※ Obi: kôken musubi ※ Obijime: light-coloured. sometimes with pocchiri ※ Obiage: most common colour variations are red/silver, or red/white shibori. But there are many other combinations. ※ Footwear: mostly Okobo (with red or pink straps), Zori

Dances [6] Some dances that are local speciality of Mukojima: ※ Asazuma bune かさずまぶね ※ Fuji musume 藤娘 ※ Fukagawa Kuzushi 深川くずし  ※ Gorô ごろう ※ Mukojima ondo 向島音頭 ※ O-Sumio お角力 ※ Otemoyan おてもやん ※ Sôran bushi ソーラン節 ※ Yosakuraya 夜桜や

Others that you can also see in Ozashiki outside of Mukojima: ※ Ayame Yukata 菖蒲浴衣 ※ Echigo Jishi 越後獅子 ※ Hanami Odori 花見踊り ※ Hatsuharu 初春 ※ Ina bushi 伊那節 ※ Kiyari Kuzushi 木遣りくずし ※ Sawagi さわぎ ※ Setsuhonkaina せつほんかいな ※ Shichi fukujin 七福神 ※ Takeda bushi 武田節 ※ Tatsumi no hidarizuma 辰巳の左褄 ※ Tsurukame 鶴亀 ※ Yakkosan 奴さん ※ Yoshiwara Suzume 吉原すずめ

Notes Mukojima allows part-time workers, calling them Kamome かもめ [5]. Most of them are students or work in a different job already. Their task is mainly assisting Geisha/Hangyoku in the Ozashiki. Kamome can become Hangyoku or Geisha if they wish to work full-time. Mukojima dancers also play instruments at ozashiki: Hangyoku frequently play shime-daiko, Tachikata more often play ko-tsutsumi, sometimes fue. Shamisen seems so be reserved for Jikata.

Usually, Ryotei and Okiya are separate businesses in Tokyo. In Mukojima, however, several Ryotei also function as Okiya [3], similar to how in Kyoto, several Ochaya also have an attached Okiya.

Sources - Text [1] Foreign Press Center Japan, Mukojima Press Tour April 2006 https://fpcj.jp/en/assistance-en/tours_notice-en/p=6744/ [2] https://www.flickr.com/photos/blue_ruin_1/28442353867/ [3] numbers 1906-1951, 1996-2007: Sumi Asahara "Tokyo Rokkagai", 2007 [4] not an exact number (account required) https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/tsurukomaiko/hanamachi-population-reference-wip-t2000.html [5] Kamome http://sengoku-japan.com/ [6] dances compiled at Tsurukomaiko, it's by no means a complete list (account required) https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/tsurukomaiko/list-of-dances-in-all-hanamachi-t1988.html [7] 1993: Tsuiseki (追跡): The World of the Geisha, ca. 1993 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkhRWNDwTyM Sources - Pictures Omomo ※ Kingyo Ozashiki ※ Momoka ※ Komachi ※ Yuki+Otokichi ※ Chikage ※ Senyume ※ Hiroya ※ Chikage+Natsuki ※ Tamaki ※ Shingetsu ※ Natsuki (twitter) ※ Soraka (insta) ※ Tomoka ※ Kingyo (fb) ※ Teruka 2x ※ Kanzashi ※ Kintaro (insta) ※ Ayame ※ Kingyo+Rin Ozashiki (fb) ※ Sakura matsuri 2023 I tried to trace back all pictures. If you find the missing links, let me know. "The look of" other Hanamachi: Yamagata, Tokyo Yoshicho, Niigata, Atami, Gifu, Tokyo Kagurazaka, Arima Onsen, Tokyo Asakua, Nagoya, Tokyo Shinbashi, Anjo I Osaka Kitashinchi, II Tokyo Akasaka, III Osaka Nanchi, Fukuoka, V Yuzawa, VI Morioka More Mukojima content: https://maigeiko.tumblr.com/tagged/mukojima Layout: @geimaiko, thanks as always! ♥

[venus-haze]

Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18. 

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother. 

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her. 

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States. 

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything. 

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it. 

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid. 

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs. 

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean. 

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor. 

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable? 

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity. 

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station. 

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more. 

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself. 

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell. 

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable. 

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile. 

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent. 

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had. 

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him. 

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed. 

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next. 

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t. 

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled. 

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor. 

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be. 

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce. 

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding. 

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?” 

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms. 

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished. 

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected? 

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it. 

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done. 

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the “busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects. 

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings. 

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking. 

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly. 

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did. 

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different. 

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent. 

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump. 

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head. 

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job. 

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing. 

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer. 

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said. 

You looked at the floor and then back up to him. 

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought. 

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway. 

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you. 

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough. 

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage. 

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?” 

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that. 

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen. 

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then. 

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours. 

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too. 

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead. 

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen. 

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said. 

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back. 

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss. 

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse. 

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”